by C. Hoover
My knees feel like they’re about to fail me. This is how it should be. This is how guys should make girls feel.
Why the hell did I ever give Asa the time of day?
When I reach my seat, he’s still standing, waiting for me to sit down first. I give him a quick smile as a thank-you and take my seat. I take my books out of my bag and he does the same. The professor walks in just as we’re settled. He turns and begins writing on the board.
Screamed a little too much at the football game last night. Lost my voice. Go through chapters 8-10 and we’ll catch up on lecture next week.
Half of the class laughs at the note. The other half groans. Carter opens his book to the right page. I lean forward and open mine and begin reading. I don’t get far before Carter grabs a pen and begins writing a note. I’m giddy with anticipation, hoping it’s for me and he’s not actually taking notes for class.
I don’t even feel guilty. I should feel guilty about this. Especially since Asa sort of proposed to me this morning, and out of fear for my own life, I was forced to say yes.
This is so fucked up. I’m going to hell.
Actually...I might already be in hell. Most of the time this life feels more like a punishment for something horrible I must have done in a previous life. Until Carter came along, at least. I don’t remember much that has ever made me excited about life before he recently entered it.
Carter slides the note to me. It’s folded in half, so I lift the paper and read what he wrote. I expect something random, like the game we’ve played in class before. Instead, it’s just a simple request.
Put your hand under the table.
I read it twice before looking at my hands. The note is a little random, but not like the game I showed him. It’s only random because I’m confused by it. I slip the note under my book and then lower my hand under the table and wait for him to hand me whatever it is he has.
To my surprise—he doesn’t give me anything. His warm palm slides against mine and he threads our fingers together, resting our hands on my thigh.
And then he returns his focus to his textbook, resuming his reading like he didn’t just attempt to set me on fire.
That’s exactly what it feels like—my hand wrapped in his—him touching my leg. I feel like someone needs to douse me with water. My heart begins to race and I feel like my whole body is tingling.
He’s holding my hand.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I didn’t know holding hands could feel better than a kiss. Better than sex. Sex with Asa, at least.
I close my eyes and focus on the weight of his hand against mine. The width of his fingers between mine. The way his thumb occasionally runs back and forth.
After probably fifteen minutes of pretending to read the textbook in front of me, he pulls his hand from mine. He doesn’t release me, though. He just begins to make circles with his fingertips against my palm. He traces every part of my hand, my palm, my fingers, between my fingers. With every minute that passes, my mind begins to wonder what those fingers would feel like against my leg. My neck. My stomach.
My breathing grows heavier. I begin to take in shorter breaths with each minute closer we get to the end of class.
I don’t want class to end. I never want it to end.
When he’s explored every part of my hand twice over, his fingers slide to my leg. He begins to stroke my knee, about three inches up the inside of my leg, and back down to my knee. My eyes are closed and I’m gripping the book in my hands. He does this for several more minutes, driving me completely insane, almost to the point that I might have to get up and go to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.
But I don’t, because somehow the fifty minutes of class are up and everyone is packing up to leave.
I find the strength to open my eyes and glance up at him. He’s staring at me, his gaze narrowed, eyes heated, wet lips that I can’t seem to look away from. He grabs my hand again and squeezes. “I know I shouldn’t...”
I shake my head. “You shouldn’t.”
I’m not even sure what he was about to say, but I have an idea of where his mind is at right now, because mine is right there with his.
“I know,” he says. “I just...I can’t be this close to you and not touch you.”
“And I can’t not let you.”
He inhales a deep breath, then releases it at the same time he releases my hand. He gathers his book and shoves it inside his backpack. He stands up and throws the backpack over his shoulder. I look up at him and he’s staring down at me. I wait for him to say goodbye or walk away, but he doesn’t.
We stare at each other for a few more seconds before he drops his backpack and falls back down in his seat. He wraps his hand in my hair and presses his forehead against the side of my head. I have no idea what he’s doing, but the desperation in the way he’s pressed against me makes me wince.
“Sloan,” he whispers, his mouth directly over my ear. “I want everything about you. So goddamn much. To the point that it’s blinding me.”
I gasp at his words.
“Please be careful,” he says. “Until I can help you get out of there. I don’t know when that’ll be, but please. Be very, very careful.”
I squeeze my eyes shut when he presses a kiss to the side of my head. What I wouldn’t give for those lips to be pressing against my mouth right now.
How can I have this many feelings for someone I just met? For someone I haven’t even kissed yet? For someone who is mostly everything I want, but also involved with everything I despise?
“If I come to your house tonight, I’m not even going to look in your direction,” he says. “But know that you’re all I see. You’re all I fucking see, Sloan.”
He releases me as quickly as he grabbed hold of me. He picks up his backpack again and stands up. I hear him walk away and I’m still sitting completely immobile, my eyes closed, my heart thrashing around inside my chest.
I want more of whatever it is he makes me feel. But I want it away from here. Away from this town. Away from Asa. I know Carter wants me to leave and I want to. I want to so bad, but I have to be more prepared for that to be able to happen. And if I leave—Carter has to leave, too. Not only does he need to sever ties with Asa, but I need him to sever ties with this corrupt lifestyle Asa has created.
We both need to leave.
Before it’s too late...
I’ve never been the kind of guy who deals with excess bullshit. Another piece of wisdom my father taught me.
“If it doesn’t benefit you, it shouldn’t fucking matter to you.”
That’s probably the best piece of advice he ever gave me. I apply that wisdom to every aspect of my life. My friendships. My business partners. My education. My empire.
Yes, I said empire. I’m not quite there yet, but props to positive thinking and all that bullshit, right?
When I first started dealing, I was small-time. Dealt what I could, when I could, to whomever I could. Mostly ecstasy to college kids, weed to college dropouts. Once I realized that wasn’t where the money or the power was, I started studying.
There was a full year right around the time I started college that I studied every minute of every day. And I’m not talking the bullshit textbook studying that lands you a full-time desk job making enough salary a year to buy one house, one car, and one wife. I’m talking real studying. Meeting people. Becoming the person people want to meet. Sampling the good shit, the heroin, the coke, just to get a feel of what kind of drug fits better with which demographic. Knowing how to not get addicted to the shit. Getting to know your dealer so well that you become best friends with your dealer’s dealer. Building trust in whoever has more power than you, but lying low enough that they don’t see it coming when you’ve suddenly got more power than them.
I learned a lot and I learned it the hard way. The right way. From the bottom to the top.
I don’t deal the petty shit now: X, weed, pills. I especially don’t fuck with weed. It’
s an excess. You want weed? Move to fucking Colorado and buy yourself a gift card to the sweet shop. Don’t waste my fucking time.
But if you want the good stuff...the shit that makes you feel like you’re kissing the face of the goddamn Creator himself? That’s when you come to me. I won’t sell you the Ford, but I’ll sell you the rarest fucking Bugatti you’ll ever come across.
I’m still building. I’ll always be building. The second someone in my position feels like they have nothing else to learn is the same second they’ll be surpassed by the next guy. As far as I’m concerned, there are no more available spots above Asa Jackson in this city. I have a good team beneath me. Guys who know their places. Guys who know I’ll be fair to them if they’re fair to me.
I’m still getting to know my newest guy, Carter. Most people are transparent, but he’s like a muddy fucking river. Most people, especially the ones who work for me, kiss my ass because they know what a fucking good thing it is to be able to fit inside my back pocket.
Carter is different. He doesn’t seem to care one way or another. It’s his indifference that unnerves me. He reminds me of myself a little, and I’m not so sure that’s a good thing. There’s only room for one me.
My oldest guy, Jon, is really beginning to get sloppy. He was once my right-hand man, but lately he’s become my fucking Achilles’ heel.
Which brings me back to my initial point.
If it doesn’t benefit you, it shouldn’t fucking matter to you.
I’m struggling to see how Jon benefits me anymore. He seems to just stir up bullshit wherever he goes. Last week he lost one of my biggest clients because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants when it came to the guy’s wife. Even I know how to draw the line between my dick and my wallet.
Unlike Jon, Carter is a benefit. He’s a good translator, he’s quiet, he shows up where he needs to be and does what I need him to do. Which is the only reason I haven’t gotten rid of him yet, despite my suspicions about him. He’s not excess yet.
Jon, though. Jon is becoming dead weight.
But Jon also knows too much, which poses an even bigger problem.
For Jon. Not for me.
Aside from the business, I’ve cut all the other excess out of my life. Other than Sloan. She’s far from excess, though. If I had to compare her to a drug, Sloan would be heroin. Heroin is nice. Heroin makes you mellow. As long as you have it in good supply, heroin would be something you could happily inject every day for the rest of your life.
Maybe it’s weird to compare people to drugs, but when drugs are all you know, it’s normal.
Jon would be meth. He’s way too cocky, talks too much, painful at times. Real fucking painful.
Dalton would be coke. Sociable, friendly, makes you want to do more coke. I like coke.
Carter would be...
What would Carter be?
I don’t think I know Carter well enough to know which drug he resembles. But for about two minutes last night when I thought Sloan said his goddamn name, Carter was the motherfucking overdose.
But she didn’t say his name. She’s never even spoken to the guy as far as I know. And if he’s smart, that means he’s never spoken to her beyond their introduction in the kitchen.
But soon, I won’t have to worry about the guys around here because she won’t live in this house anymore. She’ll be in our house.
Shit.
Fuck!
I was supposed to buy the fucking ring today. I knew I was forgetting something.
I go to my closet to get dressed. I debate pulling out the Armani. You know—special day and shit. Instead I grab a dark blue button-up shirt I know Sloan likes and pair it with slacks. It really doesn’t matter what I pick out of the closet, it’s all fucking spectacular. I’ve always dressed for the level of respect I want to receive.
And no, my fucking father didn’t teach me that one. He’d have probably made it a lot longer in the outside world had he not dressed like the fucking bum that he was.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs and glance in the kitchen, I see Jon standing at the sink with his back to me, holding a bag of ice to the side of his head.
“What happened to you?”
He turns around, and the whole fucking right side of his face is black and blue. “Christ, man. Who the hell did you fuck over?”
Jon drops the bag of ice in the sink. “No one important.”
I walk into the kitchen. His face is even worse up close. And if he thinks he’s not about to tell me who fucked him up, he’s wrong. If he lost us another job, the left side of his face will look a whole lot worse than his right. I grab my keys off the counter and ask him again. “Who the fuck did that to you, Jon?”
He pops his jaw and looks away from me. “Some asshole caught me with his girl last night. Took me off guard. It looks worse than it was.”
Fucking idiot. I laugh. “No, I’m sure it looks just as bad as it was.” I walk to the pantry and check the alcohol stock. It’s empty, as usual. I slam the pantry door. “We’re celebrating tonight. Need you to stock up today. I have to run an errand.”
Jon nods. “Special occasion?”
“Yep. Got engaged. Make it classy. None of the cheap shit.” I head toward the front door and I hear Jon laugh. When I turn around, the fucker is still smiling. “Something funny?” I ask, walking back into the kitchen.
He shakes his head. “Is there anything not funny about you getting married, Asa?”
I laugh. And then I fuck up the left side of his face.
Fucking excess.
I make it to my car in the parking lot. Somehow. I grip the steering wheel and lean my head back.
I have no idea where the line is drawn now, it’s so fucking blurred. I’m trying to do the job I’m here to do, but at the same time Sloan is making me question whether this is really the life I want at all. I have no idea if I was Carter just now or if that was all Luke. Luke is becoming Carter.
I’m pulling too much of myself into this job, but I have no idea how to not be myself when I’m with her. All the things I want to say to her. The things I wish I could do to her. The truth I wish I could tell her.
If I told her the truth about who I am and what I’m here to do, though, I’d be risking everything. My life. Ryan’s life. Possibly her life. The less she knows, the better.
I press my forehead against the steering wheel and try to foresee the inevitable shitstorm that’s coming our way.
I want to be with her. I want to be with her as Luke. But that can’t happen until we have enough on Asa to put him away for good. And we won’t be able to put him away for good until he slips up. He’s careful right now. He’s smarter than I initially thought.
But the more time it takes to get where we need to be in this investigation, the more danger Sloan is in. And knowing what I know now about Asa, leaving him is the worst thing she could do. There’s no way he’d let her leave peacefully. He’d hurt her. And I wouldn’t put it past him to hurt her brother, too.
She’s stuck until he’s gone, and that could be months.
I lean back in my seat again and pick up my phone. As if I’m being punked, I have two texts from Asa.
Asa: Where are you?
Asa: Meet me for lunch at noon. Peralta’s. I’m fucking hungry.
I stare at the texts for several seconds. This is out of character for him. He doesn’t text on his regular phone when it has to do with a job, so...he literally just wants lunch?
Me: Be there in ten.
Twelve minutes later I’m weaving my way through the restaurant to where Asa is seated. He’s staring down at his phone when I take my seat.
“Hey,” he says, not even glancing up. He finishes the text and then sets his phone aside. “You busy tonight?” he asks.
I shake my head and pick up the menu. “Nope. Why?”
I look over the menu, but I don’t have to make eye contact to see that he’s smiling. He reaches behind him and then sets something on the table. I lo
wer the menu and my eyes land on a box.
A jewelry box.
What the fuck?
He opens it and holds it out for me to take. I stare down at the ring, the dread making my skin itch. He’s proposing?
I try not to laugh. He’s fucking delusional if he thinks she’s going to agree to this. He also doesn’t know Sloan as well as he thinks he does, because this ring is nothing like Sloan. This ring is gaudy and showy. She’ll fucking hate it.
“You’re proposing?” I hand him back the box and pick up my menu again like I’m not really interested.
“No, I did that already. Tonight’s the celebration.”
My eyes flick away from the menu and straight to his. “She said yes?” I had no idea nods could be cocky until just now. I force myself to smile. “Congrats, man. She seems like a keeper.”
Why did she not mention this to me this morning? Why would she agree to marry him? I guess she feels trapped. She can’t very well say no to Asa with the position she’s in. Agreeing to it was the safe thing to do, even though it makes me sick for her.
I just don’t know why she didn’t warn me.
He puts the box back in his coat pocket. “She is a keeper. She’s heroin.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Heroin?”
He shakes off my question and calls over the waiter. “I want a beer. Whatever you have on tap. And a cheeseburger, all the way.”
The waiter looks at me. “Same,” I say.
We hand over the menus and I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. It’s probably Dalton. I texted him on the way here to let him know I was having lunch with Asa. I have no idea what this lunch is about, but I want to make sure the team knows where I am. Especially after Sloan said my name in her sleep. I half expected my agreeing to this lunch was a suicide mission.
I take a sip of the water already sitting on the table. “So when’s the big day?”
Asa shrugs. “No idea. Soon. I want to get her out of that fucking house before she gets hurt. I don’t trust a single goddamn person around her.”